These micro-memories keep dropping on me, and it’s fucking me up. I pull the chicken out of the pan. It needs to cool before I can shred it.
She still hasn’t said anything. She’s standing right next to the cutting board now. I have a pile of celery on there that I need to dice.
She’s so close I can feel the heat off her body. I’m still not used to her scent everywhere.
Beckett touches her all the time. Literally picking her up whenever he wants to. Liam is casually affectionate too. He’ll kiss her cheek, rub her back.
I can’t.
I want to. But I can’t.
I’m not afraid of losing control. It’s not like I’m going to be overcome with lust and rip her clothes off.
I’m scared.
I’m afraid she doesn’t want me, that I’ll touch her and she’ll shrink away, scream, run. Fuck the scent match, she’s hated me for years. Blamed me for Reed. Had her dirtbag of a father pump her head full of bad shit about me since before Reed died. His little confession before he blew his brains out doesn’t deprogram that instantly.
If I was her, I wouldn’t want me either. I have no idea why Beckett and Liam want me half the time.
My mouth is dry, and I clear my throat. “We don’t have to go, if you don’t want to. We can watch the game here. I’m not going to, you know, be a prick like last time.”
That’s not technically a lie. Even if I’m on my best behavior, with her smelling like heaven, I wouldn’t put money on me not starting a brawl if someone looks at her wrong.
“I don’t think his omega likes me.” She says it softly, like a confession.
I snort. “Sandra is… Well, she’s a good person, but she likes to be the center of attention.”
“Sure.”
“Ask Beckett. She does a lot for the team. She’s just, maybe a little bitchy sometimes.”
“I feel like I annoy him.”
“Who?”
“Beckett.”
“Impossible.”
“Every time he texts, he says something like “in the locker room” or “on the bus” or “practice starting”. It feels like I’m interrupting.”
“Oh, no.” I laugh. “He just wants you to feel included, like you know what he’s doing.”
She shrugs. “He’s like this big important person, and I’m just a stupid little omega.”
Hot fury pours through me. I’m gripping the knife so hard I feel the wood handle groan against metal.
“Don’t.” The word is rough in my throat. “Don’t ever talk about yourself like that.”
She snorts. “I am a stupid omega.”
Something breaks in me. I put the knife down before it shatters in my hand and place both palms flat on the counter.
“Don’t you fucking ever call yourself stupid.”
“I’m a stupid little omega.” Her voice has a silly sing-song quality to it. But this is not a fucking joke.
“I’m serious, Ash.”
